


And the Gunslinger Followed

by MittenCrab



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Blackwatch, Blackwatch Era, Blackwatch Jesse McCree, Blackwatch Reaper | Gabriel Reyes, M/M, Mission Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2017-12-01
Packaged: 2019-02-09 08:12:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12883704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MittenCrab/pseuds/MittenCrab
Summary: “Stay right behind me,” Gabriel says quietly, breaks the silence. His shoulders are tense, eyebrows drawn. “And pay attention.”“Yessir,” he says, rolls his eyes a little. Gabriel knows damn well that he doesn’t need to be reminded.[for CLASSIFIED: A Blackwatch Zine]





	And the Gunslinger Followed

**Author's Note:**

> This was my fic for the "Classified: Blackwatch Zine"! It was such a huge honour to work with so many great creators and I had a blast. Thank you so much to the mods for letting me be a part of this, and I can't wait for the next project!
> 
> [Please check out the accompanying comic by Kikisshh! ](https://twitter.com/kikisshh/status/936724075879084032) It's so goddamn beautiful and I can't get over the fact I got to work with them.

“Wow, boss,” Jesse says as he wipes the sweat and dust from his eyes, “you really know how t-” 

“Quiet,” Gabriel says, presses up against the wall fragment they are behind. There’s a thin sheen of sweat and dust over his forehead, down the bridge of his nose. He gestures sharply with his eyes, and it’s then that Jesse hears it. 

There are voices. Ethereal and distant like smoke, murmuring over and over one another.  
Gabriel is perfectly still, pressed into the dusty brickwork, brow furrowed in concentration under the line of his beanie. Listening. Jesse listens too - tries in vain to tune out the sound of the wind and sparking electricity and just focus on them. He can’t make out how many there are, or what they’re saying. Not that he needs to. With Gabriel, all he needs to do is pull the trigger. He’s never quite cracked the enigma of exactly what the SEP did to Gabriel Reyes, but he knows enough to know that he can see and hear things that no human should be able to. 

Jesse scrubs the back of his wrist across his face, winces at the feeling of the grains of sand scraping across his forehead. Everything is hot dust and rubble. It clings to him like static, trying to find a way underneath his skin. High above, the sun is bleeding in through the wreck of the roof, pulpy and orange, and the glare of it stings his eyes almost as much as the sweat does.

Almost worse than the heat is the unpleasant sensation of his Blackwatch shirt sticking to him, damp and sickly-warm against his back. Wistfully, Jesse thinks of cool showers back on base, of how goddamn _good_ it’s going to feel to wash the desert off when they get back, like sex and whiskey all at once. The dust is stirring madly in his blood and all he wants is to be clean of it, to wash it away and feel human again. But they have work to do together, and Gabriel is counting on him, and somehow that makes this worth it every damn time. 

When he glances to the side, Gabriel is still drawn tight, focussed on the distant sounds of footsteps and hushed conversation. He’ll be at it for a while. Always takes his time. Jesse relaxes against their cover, chews almost thoughtfully on his toothpick. Peacekeeper is warm in his grip.

“Stay right behind me,” Gabriel says quietly, breaks the silence. His shoulders are tense, eyebrows drawn. “And pay attention.” 

“Yessir,” he says, rolls his eyes a little. Gabriel knows damn well that he doesn’t need to be reminded. Gabriel also knows damn well that he’s more interested in checking Peacekeeper than waiting for some mystery voices to reveal themselves.

Jesse looks down to the gun in his palm. He’s already used two rounds on the way in, so he’ll need to reload at some point, and while the boss is busy doing whatever it is that he does, he may as well keep himself occupied. The movements are so natural now that he does it almost subconsciously - flick of the wrist, twist of the chamber, smack of the ejector rod, and-

When he looks up, Gabriel is gone.

And the voices have stopped. 

He glances around for a flash of black chestplate or for the glint of a shotgun, but Gabriel is nowhere to be seen. Which doesn’t make sense, because nobody, not even Gabriel should be able to move so quickly or so silently. Something tugs sharply in Jesse’s throat like acid and hot wire. His boss never goes ahead without him.

Jesse’s hands tighten on Peacekeeper. The whispering undercurrent of voices has completely disappeared, which can only mean that they’re compromised.

“Boss?” he whispers. He glances right, peers over a break in the rubble. There’s nothing. Only dust, swirling languidly across the floor. 

He takes a step forward, listens carefully for any sound. But the voices remain silent. 

“Boss,” he tries, dares to speak a little louder. Thinks of Gabriel bleeding out onto the sand and dying alone in this place, amongst the wind and the static. “...Gabe?”

And then, finally, a reply comes.

“Jesse.” The voice is low, as though Gabriel is close to the ground. There’s something about it that doesn’t add up - too deep, somehow. Too rough. Hearing it should send relief pooling in his stomach, but instead, there’s just a cool sensation of dread, like plunging unexpectedly into cold water, vast and deep and horribly, terribly blue. Jesse squints in confusion. There’s something wrong but he doesn’t understand what it is, can only sense it, just out of reach. 

Suspicion crawls at the base of his neck. Jesse pulls the toothpick he’s been chewing on from his mouth. Lets it fall to the ground below. Inhaling, he pulls his body against the wall, shuffles in the direction of Gabriel’s voice. Feels the firm weight of Peacekeeper in his hands. 

“Talk to me, Gabe,” he calls. Gets ready to shoot. This time, there is no response. Only dust and wind and static. 

The thing underneath his sternum that growls and aches at him to survive rears its head. Instinctively, he starts trying to think of an evac plan, of the quickest way out, of whether he can carry Gabriel if he needs to. He’ll go through hell before he leaves him behind in some godforsaken ruin. 

Jesse counts down and throws himself around the corner, gun drawn, prepared to pull the trigger on whoever - whatever - lies in wait.

There is nothing. Only a swirl of smoke amongst the dust. 

None of it makes sense. The fear hits him like it always does - all at once. His limbs are heavy, and he almost thinks he can taste the iron tang of blood in his mouth. Jesse stares helplessly at the ground, feels a sharp prickling sensation in his fingertips like ice and needles.

The shuffling behind him is almost inaudible. Like wind through grass. And yet, somehow, he does hear it, almost thinks he can feel it on his back. Adrenaline shoots down his spine, the hot-cold rush of it shuddering across his skin. There is laughter that sounds like gravel somewhere behind him. His palms are suddenly tingling with sweat. He spins around.

And finds himself staring down the barrel of a shotgun.

As the muzzle flashes, he catches the briefest glimpse of a man in black. A mask like the face of an owl. 

And then the roar of a bullet breaks the world into pieces.

\---

Jesse jerks awake in the dark. Looks around himself frantically. His chest is tight, like string pulled and pulled and pulled until it’s about to snap, and he can’t breathe.

Things piece together too quickly: that he’s dozed off in some motel room chair; that it smells like stale nicotine, not of hot sand; that the sounds of the highway are rushing distantly outside of the window. He stares down at the place where his whiskey glass has slipped from his hand in his sleep, shattered across the floor. As he comes back to himself, there’s a brief moment of blessed relief. 

And then, the worst reality of all sinks in. It hits him straight in the chest, claws the air out of his lungs. A sob chokes in his throat, sharp and bright, like glass. Gabriel isn’t here. Won’t ever be here, because whatever’s left of him is buried in some goddamn wreckage in Switzerland and he didn’t _wait_ for Jesse.

Jesse curls in on himself. He shudders, swallows thickly. His face feels wet and he isn’t sure why. He pulls air into his lungs with breath after heaving breath and tries to fight against the searing urge to sob. He rubs at his eyes uselessly with his free hand. The nightmare is still clawing at his consciousness and he wants it gone - wants the memories of Gabriel gone because they’re still raw, like an open wound festering in his skin. 

“‘No one left behind’ my ass,” he says to himself, feels the aching, long-vacant space behind his ribs with Gabriel’s name on it. 

“Guess you finally went where I couldn’t follow.”

**Author's Note:**

> [You can find me on twitter as @mitten_crab!](https://twitter.com/mitten_crab/)   
> 


End file.
